L is for Lawliet
by Subaru-chan
Summary: So many years before a Shinigami droped his Death Note in our world, there were already a Justice. There were already L. Here's my version of the greatest detective on Earth's whole life, from his first case at the age of 6 and until his death at 25.


Prologue : Christmas Gift

The wind was blowing hard this December's night, lifting up the snow that was invading the streets and covering the trees. Christmas was coming, and many children were delighted about this snow. Quillish Wammy, hasting toward the railway station, wasn't delighted at all. It has been a long time he hasn't anyone to celebrate Christmas with.

Yet, there has been a time when Christmas delighted him so much. A time of smiles and candles on the fireplace, a time of Yule log, of screams of enjoyment, of gifts under an illuminated Christmas tree… But this time was over. Since… He stopped suddenly and would have hit himself if he hadn't been on the middle of the street. This kind of ideas was useless. He were going to buy a gift for the children, for his children, for they could celebrate Christmas, them too, even if they hadn't parents anymore to tell them that, if they aren't quiet, Santa Claus won't bring them toys. This thought was the best cure he knew against the ghosts that came back in his spirit when he were alone. To replace their illusive smile with the orphans', their voices with the screams of joy they'd cry out when they'd discover the gifts he'd buy for them, create for them at each Christmas.

He glanced at the people who were hurrying around him, carrying bright-coloured cartons in their arms, smiles on their faces, forgetting than for some, Christmas is just a time when it is cold.

He decided to buy something to eat, one of these hot pastries sold buy the stalls of Christmas Market. Having paid a huge, perfumed doughnut full of jam, he moved to put back his wallet in his pocket. He jumped when he felt a minuscule, iced thing touch his hand, and then move back… with the wallet. He turned over and saw a tiny figure disappearing in the crowd. He chased it, but quickly lost sight of it. He were about to give up, when a noise in a near alley got his attention. The lid of a dustbin just fell on the snowy ground. Wammy moved apart two skips.

His eyes fell on a child rolled up in the snow, his hands turned blue by the cold gripping the wallet. The boy looked up and his eyes imprisoned Wammy's. This wasn't a child, but an adult who was staring at him behind these two black wells. He had the feeling of being explored from top to bottom by these eyes.

This was the boy who broke off the contact. Allowing Quillish to examine him in details. And to be more and more surprised. The boy was pale enough to make the snow around him feel ashamed; paleness that contrast with the black, wide circles that underlined his eyes. His hair was jet-black, and seemed to be composed only with tuft of hair. He wore old, worn clothes, far too large for him, floating around his little body, underlining his extreme skinniness. He didn't wear socks in the things that looked vaguely like inform flat shoes and that he wore on his feet.

Then the boy spoke, in a calm voice that didn't have any track of any peculiar emotion, fear, shame or whatever should be in a so young robber's voice.

- Is this wallet yours?

- Y-Yes…

The boy held the wallet out of him.

- I give it back to you… I didn't take anything inside. Can I have your doughnut?

His eyes were full of hunger, as if he didn't swallow anything since his birth.

- But, Wammy went on, where are your parents?

The boy had grabbed the coveted doughnut and just put the whole pastry in his mouth, looking like a young panda. His eyes suddenly turned tougher. Is that really because of the quantity of food in his mouth? He didn't respond right at the moment.

- They…They aren't here.

- But, where do you live?

Quillish wondered if he was talking to a lost child, or if the boy had decided to run away. He thought that it was exactly the kind of child that wouldn't be found if he didn't choose to.

- Not very far from here.

- That doesn't answer my question. Listen, you have to…

He saw the boy jump upright and heard a voice behind him.

- Excuse-me, Sir…

He turned over to face a policeman. Who went on:

- Excuse-me to disturb you. Several persons complained that a pickpocket stole their wallet or money, and I was wondering… if you yourself haven't been victim of…

His eyes resolutely fixed on the boy talked by themselves. The boy looked up to Wammy with an even more eloquent look. Then Quillish did something completely irrational. He took the child's hand.

- No I'm sorry, I didn't notice anything… I was looking for this ragamuffin…It's my grand-son, err… Eraldo, he is unbearable, he were hiding for me not to find out what he done to his clothes… His mother sure will be furious!

Then "Eraldo" played his role so perfectly that Wammy wondered how it was possible to lie this well being such a young child. He gripped his "grandfather" sleeve and started yelling plaintively :

- Grandpa… Mister policeman, I didn't steal anything, that's not me, I promise, I didn't take the chocolate… just a little bit, I swear !! Not put me in jail, please, I won't do it again !

- Calm down, Eraldo, the old man said. Be quiet, mister policeman is very gentle, he won't harm you at all…

Then, speaking to the incredulous policeman :

- Excuse him, he's a child… I'll bring him home before he get cold. I'm sorry I can't help you…

The other said it was nothing, clearly disappointed, and left again. The old man waited until he was out of sight, and addressed a wink to the boy, who answered gravely :

- I thank you very much. Why did you help me ?

Quillish remain speechless. He had absolutely nothing to answer this.

- You lied to this policeman…although you don't know anything about me, and beside I stole your wallet.

- Right, but… That's you who should answer. I felt like you utterly didn't want to get caight by this policeman… Why ?

He didn't answer.

- You ran away, right ? You leave your parents' home ?

He looked up with his huge inexpressive eyes, but Wammy was certain there were a shade of deep sadness in them.

- No, he ended by answer. That's my parents who left.

- Wh-what the… ? What do you mean ?

- Nothing, I don't mean anything, I only want to leave, he mustn't find me because I have something to do…

He stopped, interrupted by a coughing fit.

- He wouldn't understand. No one can understand, all would say that isn't a child's task… But no one either would do it, if it's not me.

- And what is this so important task ?

The boy, his eyes fixed on his shoes, didn't answer.

- Tell me at least you name…

He kept silent.

- Come on, you saw I won't tell anyone, you can tell me that…

- That's not it… You wouldn't believe me.

The old man was more and more surprised.

- Why that ? Why do you think I wouldn't believe you ?

He hesitated a second.

- 'Cause… 'Cause I'm dead.

- Come on, what are you saying ? I don't believe in ghost you know…

- I know. That's why you won't believe me. That's true yet. That's written- here.

He put his hand in his oversized T-shirt and extirpated a large envelope that he kept tightly on his chest. He took out a sheet of newspaper, used, greyish and crumpled. He held the sheet out of him silently.

The photograph showed an regular house, enlighten despite the night and surrounded by police cars. He read quickly the text : "A tragic case in this little, peaceful English town… The cruel murder of Helen and Jonas Lawliet… their only son, Loan Lawliet, six years old, disappeared and several elements seems to prove that he is unfortunately dead by now… tracks close to the near river indicate that the boy had been thrown in the water… This family hasn't any serious matter, what motive could have justified such a slaughter ?"

The article was dated of the month of February of this year. Quillish sighed. He heard of this awful story, and that the killer hasn't been found. It had revolted him seriously. His attention came again on the boy.

- What do you mean with that ? You…

He fell silent. "Their only son, six years old…". He looked at the little boy. He seemed to be about seven.

- You can't be…

- My name is Loan Lawliet.

They both fell silent for a while. The boy had fixed his enormous eyes to Quillish's. Who thought that he hadn't any reason to lie.

But that was impossible. Loan Lawliet died ten months ago, there were proofs. This boy couldn't be Loan Lawliet, that was merely impossible. Either he was mocking him, either he wasn't normal.

He were to realize later how much Loan Lawliet "wasn't normal".

But at this moment, he had to stop his thoughts because the boy just fell on the ground, coughing hardly and suffocating. He suddenly become aware of the fact that the child's clothes, too thin and ripped, were totally helpless against the cold wind and the snow. He put his hand on the boy's forehead. It was burning with fever. The boy tried to stand, but fell again in vertigo and collapsed. Quillish caught him in his arm before he reached the icy land. He just couldn't let this child stay here. Lawliet or not, runaway or not. _"'Cause…'Cause I'm dead." _It would soon become true if nothing was done. He wrapped the boy in his large scarf, lift him up and, ignoring the passers-by who were staring at him, and his train that was probably leaving the station by now, he crossed the crowd. The young boy were shivering, and looked like he were about to lose consciousness. Wammy wondered how it was possible that a boy of his age still hasn't been rescued.

Maybe it was the Christmas gift of Quillish Wammy.

He reached his flat after a time that seems endless to him. He set down the child on an arm chair, where he rolled up, then he ran to prepare a bath, a towel and a hot chocolate. When he came back in the living room, it took him a few seconds to understand why the armchair was totally empty. His eyes followed the traces of snow on the carpet, on the wooden floor. The stain of jam on the door's hilt. The door wide open.

While running down the stairs, he wondered what he has done that was so bad that he received the punishment of running after a boy liar, runaway and so-called dead, so close to Chrismas and his 67 years old. He didn't even have time enough to sin by greediness.

He indeed wasn't as agile as he was at the time of his twenties, but he still was able to run faster than a seven-years-old child half-congealed. He caught Loan, or whatever his name may be, just before he reached the door of the street. He grabbed his shoulders and led him astray from the door, maybe more abruptly than needed.

The boy turned his pale face toward him.

- If you don't let me go, I scream you're trying to capture me.

Quillish was expecting anything but this cold, implacable answer.

- Scream if you're willing to, but I won't let you go. If you go out you're gonna die. You're burning with fever, you're shivering, you nearly haven't anything to wore although the temperature is less than zero degrees ! Get a hold on yourself ! You won't live two days. You won't wake up the day after tomorrow if I let you like this. I won't harm you, I won't ask you anything, but you have to accept that I treat you.

- That…That doesn't matter. I don't want, I don't care if I don't wake up tomorrow. I just have a thing left to do…and that'll be over. I leave, and you, you'd better never have seen me ! Let me go, forget me… I told you I don't care !!

Quillish failed to let him go out of surprise. What were in this boy's heart, for him to consider his own death with a so complete disinterest ?

That was worse than it. The proper of childhood was to not be aware of this kind of things. Murder, death, an average child doesn't measure the meaning of these things. Who's that child ?

- No…No one will miss me. Nobody care, and neither do I. And I am…already dead, so what does it change if I'm to die ? Nothing. For nobody…

There was sadness in his vacant eyes. There were tears, even if they didn't flow. Even if they weren't visible. Quillish has met plenty of children, whose past was full of so many pains. But he never was able to bear a child's tears, as unseen as they may be.

- That changes something. For me. Please…Come with me.

- For you…? For…who ?

- My name is Quillish Wammy.

- You know…What I told you before… That's true…

- That's not the matter. May you go back up ?

He smiled.

- If nobody care, there'll always be time to die later, right ?

The boy vacillated, then nested his cold little hand in the old man's.


End file.
